This blog describes my journey as a Foreign Service officer, wife of another FSO and a mom to a boisterous, loving boy.We began our careers with the State Department in 2010/2011 and first served in amazing Bangladesh, followed by fabulous Rio de Janeiro. We are currently serving in Washington, DC. Our lives are a pleasant circus and we cannot believe just how lucky we are to live our dreams.

Sunday, August 17, 2014

To Bulgaria and Back

I have just returned to Rio after 12 days of binge eating,
drinking and being merry back home in Sofia. As mentioned before, Son spent
solid 6 weeks with Grandma and I went to collect him and bring him back to the
rainy fold of Rio de Janeiro. In his absence, the Diplomat and I watched more
soccer than ever necessary, and had entire weekend days to do whatever we
wanted. The problem was that we badly missed Son who, at the same time, thought
about us in passing while becoming increasingly popular with the kids in front
of Grandma’s building in Sofia.

As I was facing a 11-hour flight from Rio to Paris, I tried
my darned best to get myself upgraded to business class. I started asking with
remarkable self-confidence about the price of the upgrade (a staggering $2000),
pretended to think about it for a while, then asked about upgrade with miles
(knowing fully well that all I had was 380 miles left) and was told no.
Finally, with a huge pleasant smile and (what I thought was) irresistible charm
and no small amount of gumption, I asked whether I could be given a
complimentary upgrade. All I was given, instead, was a cold unblinking stare
and an aisle seat deep into coach territory. C'est la vie. On the plane, for
about an hour, the TV did not work but at least they were passing rather
excellent Champagne to lessen the pain. Finally up in the air, pleasantly
buzzed, we were given our tiny yet delicious dinner and the TVs finally began
working. I watched the highly intellectually stimulating LEGO movie and, folded
like an amateur contortionist, managed to sleep for an entire 4 hours. In
Paris, I found myself a nice leather sleeper semi-couch facing the runway, and
was asleep in 3 minutes. It was not a good sleep though, as I was clutching
with one hand my phone whose alarm was set to wake me up to board the plane to
Sofia, and with the other my obscenely expensive and rather large Louis Vuitton
purse.

I woke up an hour later and decided to check out the cigar
choices at the Duty Free shop. To my delight, they had a giant walk-in humidor,
into which I immediately went. Now, you should know that in European airports,
duty free shops have 2 prices for tobacco products – one for travelers within
the EU (higher) and one for those traveling outside of it (palpably lower). I
knew that but since I was technically traveling from Brazil to Bulgaria with a
layover in France, I thought that maybe they make an exception in such cases. I
decided to ask the haughty-looking young French salesman which price I would be
paying given my situation. The conversation went on something like this:

Me (speechless for a second): Yes, I actually know but thank
you for pointing it out. As a matter of fact, Bulgaria has been located in
Europe ever since it was founded in 681 A.D.
Anyway, I was simply asking because I am here only as a layov..

Then, finally at Sofia airport, I looked and felt very much
like something chewed, swallowed, then masticated on for some time and finally spit out by a particularly
languid cow. I only wished to go through the passport lane quickly, collect my
luggage, be met by Son and Grandma, and then be whisked home to the sumptuous
feast that my mom had undoubtedly cooked for me. Instead, I had to go through
the usual uncomfortable rigmarole at the passport control, where I would
present my U.S. passport, be looked at with confusion or suspicion or some
other negative microexpression by the border officer, be asked for my Bulgarian
passport, having to explain why exactly I did not have one and then finally be
free to go. Soon, suitcases in the cart, as I was about to bolt to freedom
through the “Nothing to declare” lane, a pleasantly smiling unformed policeman
stepped in front of my cart and brightly asked me where I was coming from. At
the point of nervous breakdown from sleep deprivation and really bad airplane
food, the effects of which I was already feeling, I replied that my immediate
flight was from France. He insisted on knowing where my original departure city
was – at the mention of Brazil, he visibly got excited and began asking me
various questions about my luggage and who had packed it. Then he asked for my
passport and spent 4 solid, quality minutes leafing through it with deep
interest. Naturally, I grew anxious as this had never happened to me before.
Since I have some old middle-school friends who work for border patrol, I began
suspecting that this was some sort of a prank and in turn, started staring at
the widely-smiling policeman very suspiciously. To which he responded with an
even bigger smile and a new inspection of my passport. In the end, he ran out
of things to ask me about, had looked through my passport 7 times and smiled wide
and long enough to be cast in a toothpaste commercial. I was finally released
in Bulgaria.

There, I was soon astonished to discover that Son had become
a full-fledged member of the pack of kids living in my building, all of whom
are kids of the people I went to primary school or grew up with in the same
building. I grew up in those blessed times where we kids roamed the streets of
our area until dark, without fear of kidnapping or perverts or whatever else credible
fears we have nowadays for our kids, thus not letting them play outside until
dark without supervision. Well, apparently this still exits to an extent where
Grandma lives. Son would get up in the morning, have a huge breakfast, then
head downstairs even if there were still no kid to play with. Or, while at home
reading a book, the other kids would begin ringing the bell, asking him to come
down to play. Extricating him from their fold at night to come home was more
painful than pulling wisdom teeth by a brand new dental resident (I know from
personal, very painful experience). The good news is that Son’s Bulgarian has improved
considerably and now he can argue with me successfully in two languages.

While in Bulgaria, I had the usual hectic schedule of seeing
as many family members and friends as possible. That entailed a lot of
restaurant going, which naturally led to a lot of food and even more drinking.
The situation got so bad that after five straight nights out, I simply could
not go any further and had to cancel a dinner that I had been really looking forward
to. My entire being simply went on strike and refused to move all evening.

I also managed to visit the U.S. Embassy in Sofia, which was
indeed spectacular! Comparing it to the Consulate building here in Rio, it
looks like a palace. Too bad I am not allowed to work there as I was recently informed
by Diplomatic Security. Oh well. Overall, my stay was awesome as all such stays
tend to be and I came back to Brazil weighing a solid 4 pounds heavier. I also
managed to bring in my suitcases 4 lbs of dried salami, 3 kilos of feta cheese,
a kilo of smoked ham, 4 packs of sunflower seeds, 3 bottles of Bulgarian grappa,
one bottle of wine and a packet of dry kadaifi. Nothing
tastes better than home food!

In my absence, the Diplomat was supposed to play tennis on a
daily basis and golf at least every other day. Ironically, it rained almost
daily so he sat home in immense frustration and called me at all hours to make
sure I wasn’t having too much fun. Here I’d like to add as a side note just how
amazing technology has become today. There are so many ways one can talk for
free internationally, which is astonishing to me especially since I still
remember vividly paying 93 cents a minute back in 1996 when I first went to the
U.S. in order to talk to my family as I was struggling with severe and painful
homesickness while trying to adapt to my new life. I remember writing letters
almost every day to my parents, grandparents, my boyfriend and my friends as virtually
no one had email back then in Bulgaria. Today, we are so easily and obsessively
connected globally that we have absolutely no excuse falling out of touch with
people who are important to us. So, call your mom today!!!

5 comments:

Love it! And totally get not being in the house at all as a younger kid - I was out during daylight all summer long and even at night as long as I was under our terrace where parents could find me it was all fine.

Since I'll be going to my home country (close to Bulgaria) in the Balkans soon, mind sharing how you packed your cheeses and meats? Wouldn't want a hot mess upon arrival.

Nope, never bid on it. It just came out of nowhere. In casual conversations with friends from DS, I was told that people born and still holding foreign citizenship are rarely allowed to serve in their home country as this creates a conflict with your diplomatic immunity. Bulgaria is among the countries particularly strict about that.

I remember the days of living in apartment buildings. There was a wider selection of play-mates to choose from! I hope my kids get to experience that someday, but sounds like it may have to be in a foreign country - if I'm lucky enough to make it through the process.

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About Me

I am a corporate lawyer turned mommy, diplomat and, at times, stay at home wife. I used to live in NYC with the Diplomat and Son (born in September 2008), and then in 2010 we moved to Washington, DC so that my husband and I can begin our tandem career with the State Department. I love martinis, single-malt scotch, high-heeled shoes, little black dresses, good cigars, exotic travel and the general good life. Being a mommy, while awesome, is tough but I fight the good fight to preserve my “cool NYer” every day, one martini at a time. Am I a good mom? Abso-freaking-lutely!